


Teamwork

by Dominatrix



Series: 120 Raindrops on the window [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And Sherlock rides a motorcycle, John is so confused, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's day is terrible.<br/>Until someone comes to save it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I'm now officially in love with every kind of Johnlock AU. Because of obvious reasons.  
> This fic is a gift to moriartys on tumblr because they asked for somebody to write something, and I'm always craving something to write. (Also if you're on tumblr give Marin a follow. Awesome blog is awesome.)
> 
> Love, Liz  
> PS: If you've got something you want me to write, tell me on: rebooting-is-for-cheesecakes.tumblr.com

Today was not a good day for John Watson. On a scale of horribleness from 1 to 10, it crashed through the ceiling towards 3704.

And what was the source of the seemingly endless misery of this young medical student?

A coffee-shop on Oxford Street.

It was a hot day in London, the heat seemed to be stuck in between the buildings, heat which was only provoked by the thousands of people that squeezed their way through. And apparently, all of these people wanted a cold drink from John Watson. At the same time.

Being only on his third day, but already being told off by the store manager twice for giving out wrong orders – today, that is - , John Watson could not afford to fail. Or _fuck up_ , as his sister Harry would call it. She had been the reason that he now spent his already little time between lectures and long nights of staring at books to memorise the location and namings of bones in a too small, too crowded coffee shop. Of course she had insisted that it had been his accomplishment, his and no one else's. But John guessed it probably didn't hurt that Harry was shagging the store manager.

Clara. A devil with glasses. Right now she shot him another angry look across the room while he juggled different cups in his hands. 

Audrey, the other barista, barked something at him. He only understood half of it, but yelled „Yup“ over the crowd of giggling, instagraming girls anyway.

 

„De-caf mocha latte. Soy milk.“

The voice was low, very low, but it had such an insistence in it that the man could have been screaming and it would have caused the same effect. John furrowed his brow and tried to remember what the business guy in the grey suit had ordered. Audrey had marked it on the cup, but John couldn't ever make out what she meant when she was basically covering the whole thing in sharpie.

„Yes, if you would please order with my colleague at the counter“ he replied through gritted teeth. John knew that Rule Number One was that you always had to be friendly to the customers. Always. But well, on a day like this it was harder than usually.

„No. Your next order for the gentleman in the ill-fitting ash-coloured suit. A de-caf mocha latte with soy milk. High blood pressure and an intolerance for lactose.“

John's eyes darted up to the source of the voice.

It was a man, or a boy on the verge of being a man, John was not sure. He had a quite boyish and pale face, and loads over loads of unruly, dark curls, but an impeccable taste in fashion which made him seem more mature, and piercing, deep eyes. He could have been everything between nineteen and thirty. (He was eighteen, but John didn't know that. Not yet.)

John hesitated. „Are you sure?“

The man – John had decided on man, there was too much in his eyes, too much he had seen already – across the bar just raised his eyebrows, as if John had offended him on a personal level. At the same time, his facial axpression was so beyong caring that it screamed:  _Oh well. Dig your grave. Go along and see if I care._

And in this moment, John decided that he didn't really have another choice than to trust this guy he had never met before. (It would be the best choice he had made in a long time, but this was another thing John Watson did not yet know.)

The next minutes ran smoothly, far smoother than anything had been in John's life for what seemed to be the last years. He took the cup in his hand and shortly showed it to the dark-haired man, after which said man took a look around the shop before telling John exactly what the person wanted, why they had this particular taste and how by the way Audrey had misspelled their name. If John had had more time, he would have stopped short because it was utterly fascinating, but he hadn't. He kept on going and tried to work off the cups as fast as he could

Only when he looked at Audrey with his hand stretched out, expecting another empty cup, to find her smiling and shaking her head, did he look out of the shop front to see the street clad in soft evening gloom.

Clara – praise the heavens – was nowhere to be see, which was good. Usually, she waited for everyone to leave so she could have a go on John, with her shrill and piercing voice. Seriously, John had no idea what Harry saw in her.

The dark-haired man was still there, standing as if no natural disaster could move him only one millimeter from where he was, which was weird because his figure looked as if it would only take a light breeze to carry him away. John wiped the sweat off his forehead and smiled.

„Thank you. I'm not sure how you did it, but it was brilliant.“

He got a frown as a reply. „Really?“

„Of course, it was bloody fantastic.“

The other man smiled, well, it was only a twitch of the right corner of his mouth, but John thought it still counted. Now that everybody was gone – even Audrey had snuck away, he noticed when he turned – he felt incredibly tired. NO wonder after a whort night of sleep and a hellish day. The yawn that crept up inside up him couldn't be stifled.

„God, sorry. Oh and can I get you anything? It's on me. Seriously. Thank you. I would have died without you.“

„Highly improbable. Your stress-level was not nearly high enough to provoke a heart attack, not in your age and your level of physical fitness. If I didn't know better I would say army cadet, but your hair is too long, and you slouch your shoulders when you stand. No, I would say student. Obviously. No sane person would ever do this kind of job if it wasn't for the money. You've studied at night, often, far often than you would need to, but you want to make sure you get everything right. Medicine, then. UCL?“

John smirked and shook his head in disbelief of what he had just heard. „Erm...Barts.“

„ _Barts!_ “ the other said as if it was a curse. „There's always something. Anyway. If the offer's still up: Black. Two sugars.“

„I'm sorry?“

The other man made a vague gesture around him. „I thought the added information  _Coffee_ would be unnecessary in this establishment.“

John shook his head again, chuckling. „Yea, sure. Sorry. What's your name?“ he asked while he picked up the cup with one hand and popped the cap of his sharpie with the other one.

„I am the only one here.“

The chuckling burst into a short laugh. „If you want to have coffee here, you have to tell me your name. Mine's John, by the way.“

„Fine. Your rules. Sherlock.“

John looked up from the cup and met the other guy's eyes. „Seriously?“

Sherlock nodded. „I know. It's my mother's fault. She insisted.“

John scribbled down on the cup and showed it to Sherlock. „Like that?“

Sherlock squinted. „Is that an f?“

„Of course not, it's a c.“

Sherlock looked at him, dead-serious face, but his eyes twinkled with joy. „I think you will be a great doctor. You've got the handwriting for it.“

 

They stayed in the shop for two hours, even after Sherlock had long finished his coffee and John had sweeped the floors as well as cleaned all the surfaces. It was not until Clara came around to lock and shooed them out that John realised how late it actually was.

„Shit, I'm late. I need to...“

„Get home to learn for your exam in three days?“

John smiled up to Sherlock. With no counter between them it was even more obvious that Sherlock was a good fifteen centimeters taller than him. „Why do I even bother saying something when you already know everything?“

„Because I genuinely enjoy hearing you talk“ Sherlock replied, with a casual shrug of his shoulders as if he had said _Because the earth revolves around the sun_. (Which Sherlock wasn't actually aware of, but up to this moment, John did not know that yet.)

„Do you want me to give you a ride?“

John didn't answer for a few seconds, he was too thunderstruck by what Sherlock had said before. It was no big deal, he knew it, but somehow it had felt strangely intimate. And good. Especially good, in a way he could not really put into words.

„That'd be brilliant. Do you have a car?“

Sherlock snorted. „In London? Of course not. I prefer motorcycles.“

 

About half an hour later, after a ride where John was pressed up against Sherlock's backside as they were making their way to Baron's Court, the bike stopped in front of the Watsons' house.

„Thanks for...You know. Today. Everything.“

„My pleasure, John Watson“ Sherlock replied with a faint smile.

John had taken two steps towards the house already when he whirled around only to find Sherlock still there, in the same position, ever-so-knowing eyes on him.

„You know...“ he began while he stepped back towards Sherlock, „if you wouldn't mind...Erm...coming around the shop again...I'd like to see you again.“ John had never been so glad about darkness, because he felt the blood rushing to his head, and he had the faint hope that Sherlock might not see it. The soft chuckle proved him wrong.

„I never had such a good coffee, so I would be a fool if I wouldn't come.“

„Great, erm, yea. Great. Maybe if you want to...Next week...“ He knew he was going too fast. He didn't even know that guy a few hours ago, and know he was talking about seeing him again – and why did he anyway? He was not even near his usual type when it came to men: Tall, bulky, blonde. Well, he was tall, but that was it. Obviously, his taste in women was different, rather leaning on the delicate side, but it seemed like his view on Sherlock refused to fit into any of the drawers John had set up in his mind.

„How about tomorrow?“ Sherlock cut his misery short. „I could pick you up after work if you like. And we could see how it goes.“

John stood, the last thing that stopped him from feeling ridiculous was the fact that his mouth didn't hang open. How did Sherlock build up such a confidence? But then...Well, he had probably seen it written all over John's face, the same way he had seen the coffee preferences of all the customers today.

John smiled. „I think I'd like that a lot.“

Sherlock started his bike, which awoke with an angry growl. „See you tomorrow, then.“

 

Today was a good day for John Watson. On a scale of brilliantness from 1 to 10, it crashed through the ceiling towards 3704.

And what was the source of the seemingly endless joy of this young medical student?

A man called Sherlock Holmes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, no, I don't judge people for instagraming their drinks, but John does.


End file.
